Green light 1-5

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 13:35:57

Upon closer inspection, you'll see a man, about 1.6 meters tall, kneeling on the floor wearing only a green women's lace panty. If you zoom in, you'll see an anal plug inserted in his anus, and a small metal chastity belt attached to his front. The chastity belt is only 3 centimeters long, a completely sealed design that isolates the glans penis from air contact, with only a small hole at the urethra, making his penis appear almost nonexistent.

This is me.

I knelt there, expectantly watching the time: 5 PM. I knew my mistress would be back soon… While waiting, I heard a knock on the door, and I excitedly opened it.

“How is it? Did you clean the room today?”

“Yes, I’m all set, just waiting for your inspection,” I replied.

As I spoke, I helped the woman in the business attire remove her 8cm red-soled black high heels, then deftly lay on her back on the floor. The woman skillfully scraped the soles of her feet, clad in 80D black stockings, against my outstretched tongue—a long-standing habit we had developed, and we coordinated perfectly.

Once inside, she tossed her bag aside and sprawled on the sofa, her right leg dangling off the edge. I immediately knelt and crawled to her feet, licking the soles of her stockinged feet repeatedly with my tongue, sometimes sucking on the toes. The scent of her expensive high heels, the smell of her imported Japanese pantyhose, and the natural aroma of her size 40 feet mingled together, making me unable to resist.

The time I spent serving her was always fleeting. After she got home from work at 5 pm, she would usually take a 20-minute nap on the sofa with her eyes closed, during which time I would caress the soles of her feet with my tongue and teeth. Then, she would shower and put on makeup until 6 pm, during which time I would help her with her clothes and apply lubricant. After getting ready, she would leave, usually not returning until midnight, or sometimes not at all.

"Be gentle!" she suddenly woke up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was so heavy..." I stammered, my eyes darting around.

She sat up halfway, pulling on my ear, forcing me to crawl forward a few steps. "Slap! Slap!" She slapped me twice across the mouth with her backhand. "Didn't I tell you yesterday? Did you ignore me?"

I didn't dare look her in the eye and could only keep apologizing. She seemed annoyed, got up, pulled my ear up, and whispered, "You won't learn your lesson if I don't punish you. Three weeks."

Then, she went into the bathroom and locked the door.

I knelt in front of the bathroom door, waiting for my mistress to finish her shower. After she finished, she would still have many uses for me...

"Come in." I heard her call me from inside.

After I crawled into the bathroom, my mistress was standing in front of the vanity mirror putting on makeup. In the mirror, she was very beautiful, a classic Eastern beauty. She didn't need heavy makeup to be captivating. Her hair was slightly curled and fell over her fragrant shoulders.

I knelt on the floor and put my face between her buttocks. She pressed half of her body weight on my face. I gently and laboriously licked her anus and vulva.

Because of the long training over the past three years, my tongue was particularly flexible, and she seemed to enjoy it. One reason was that I liked her, and another was because she said that male saliva could keep her vagina and anus healthy, comfortable, and not too dry.

The first time I heard her say this, I asked why I needed to keep those two holes moist. She slapped me and retorted, "What do you think? Do you want people to complain that I'm dry and hard down there?" At that moment, I saw she was about to get angry, so I quickly lowered my head to lick her big toe, while secretly glancing at her expression. She kicked me away in annoyance and didn't come back for three days... When she returned, she casually told me not to think about that for three months...

After this incident, I never dared to ask again, but lubricating her became our tacit daily routine. Every morning when she left for work, I would lubricate her; when she came back from work, before she showered and left, I would lubricate her again; sometimes when we slept together at night, she would ask me to do it for her. Each lubrication session lasted about 10 minutes, during which she would apply her makeup. The moment she finished, I thought she looked absolutely stunning.

Afterwards, I brought her nighttime attire from the bedroom—stockings and a corset (these corsets weren't as tight as those from the Middle Ages, but rather used as sex toys). The stockings were black, the corset was black, and in fact, almost all of my mistress's lingerie was black. I remember when I was courting her, she asked me what color I liked, and I said black. She told me she would wear black from now on. From then on, black stockings became her standard attire; I rarely saw her without them, spring, summer, autumn, or winter. Even now, a whole closet is filled with her black stockings, garter stockings, thigh-high stockings, pantyhose… Anyway

, after my mistress finished her lingerie, she would usually put on a black V-neck, revealing, tight-fitting dress, and then drape a brown or dark blue V-neck trench coat over it. As for where she was going, I still didn't dare ask. If she was in a good mood, she might reveal a little bit of her destination herself—maybe a party, maybe a nightclub, or perhaps a bar.

Finally, I held the high heels in my hands, buried my head deep under them, and placed them just wide enough for her foot to slip inside. At her ankle, there was a metal chain, with the small key to my chastity lock hanging from it—my source of release for pleasure. (I see that little key every day while serving her, but I'm absolutely forbidden to touch it, or I'll suffer six months of imprisonment and 10 hours of whipping. Of course, if I behave well, she'll let me masturbate once a month. As a slave, I can't take up too much of my master's time, so each time I masturbate, it only lasts two minutes. If I exceed that time, regardless of whether I ejaculate or not, she'll put my penis in ice water and then into the cold chastity lock. So I especially cherish this once-a-month opportunity, usually reaching orgasm in one minute or 90 seconds. Once, when she was unlocking the lock for me, just her delicate hand's intentional or unintentional touch made me orgasm the moment the lock came off my penis, and naturally, that month's release was considered complete. Sometimes, she'll allow me to suck on her stockinged feet while teasing my penis. And as is customary, after each ejaculation, I should sincerely say "thank you, master," then lick the semen off the ground with my tongue, and finally ask her to put the lock back on for me...)

"May my mistress be happy!" I whispered the moment her right foot slipped on her high heel—it was a fixed ritual. If she was in a good mood, she might chuckle and deliberately ask, "Which sex is 'happy sex'?" She wouldn't take my answer, and would leave with a smile, leaving me embarrassed.

Bang! After closing the door, it was another night of patient waiting. If she didn't come back by midnight, I would go to sleep; if she did, I might get a reward that night—helping her clean the milk off her vulva.

By the way, the mistress I was referring to was my girlfriend from three years ago.

Chapter 1, Zijun.

I met her at a department gathering during my sophomore year of college. Back then, I was just an inexperienced young man from a small county town, 1.6 meters tall, the kind who wouldn't stand out in a crowd. At the party, a pretty girl caught my eye. She was about half a head taller than me, with almond-shaped eyes, a delicate nose, and hair that fell to her waist. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and jeans, the kind of clothes you often see on the street. At first glance, she seemed like the sporty, youthful type of girl. Although she wasn't particularly stunning, as I looked her over more closely, my heart was captivated by her.

From that moment on, I decided to pursue her and make her my girlfriend: firstly, because she wasn't particularly beautiful, so I wouldn't feel inferior while pursuing her; secondly, because she was my type. After three months of diligently pursuing her by bringing her milk tea and snacks, she agreed to "try" dating me, but she said she didn't want us to make our relationship public so quickly, so we never had any intimate gestures at school, only walking side by side (never holding hands). I couldn't help but brag to my roommate, who said, "She's just an average woman, her fashion sense isn't great either, how did you fall for her?" I remained silent. I didn't know if he was jealous, but I also knew he was almost right. But with my circumstances, I could only find a "average" woman like her.

"Average" could also be replaced with "traditional." She received strict upbringing and was extremely conservative in many things. Whenever I tried to hold her hand or kiss her, she would push me away and even ask, "How could you have such dirty thoughts?" I always heard people say that having a girlfriend means having a sex life, but I didn't dare mention the word "sex" in front of her, afraid she would get angry. Although I couldn't touch or kiss her, I was still quite gratified. It was a blessing to find such a virtuous woman in such a restless university.

The two months she agreed to date me were probably the happiest time of my life. We went to movies together, bought ice cream together, went to the amusement park together, and strolled around the university's small woods—every night, it became a place of passion: passionate kissing, touching each other, even having sex in the open...

"Why is that girl's hand inside her boyfriend's pants?" In the dim light, my girlfriend saw the two of them doing something.

"She's probably helping him masturbate," I said tentatively.

“Disgusting, doing this in broad daylight,” she said with disgust.

“My little princess, it’s late at night, and you’re still doing this in broad daylight?”

“Do you want to do this too?” Her tone became serious. “I’m telling you again, I would never do such a thing.”

“No, really no, my love for you is definitely not that dirty.” I quickly swore to the heavens, then quickened my pace to get her away from here. If we stayed any longer, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

We stopped at the lotus pond behind the school, found a bench to sit on, the evening breeze gently rustled the willow catkins, and the bright moonlight illuminated her face. I resisted the urge to kiss her forcefully and chatted with her about some psychology we had learned in class that day. Gradually, we talked about the popular feminist trend in society. “Feminism is impossible to achieve because all social relations are a reflection of social productivity…” I stated my views without reservation.

"Stop! Your perspective is only macroscopic. You can say that's true overall, but there are always families practicing feminism in society, right? For example, husbands and wives do the same housework, and some babies are even raised by the husbands!" she argued.

I didn't retort because she wasn't on the same wavelength as me. I was talking about the whole, she was talking about the individual. Although I felt she was ignoring my question, I still reluctantly said, "

That makes sense." "You're just being evasive," she seemed to be getting into it. "Anyway, I'm going to practice feminism when I get married."

"Okay, okay, I promise you." Little did I know that my evasiveness towards her today would later become a self-fulfilling prophecy, bringing me indescribable joy and pain in the future. But that's another story...

Happy times are always fleeting—that saying is true everywhere. As my passion for her faded and our feelings became more subdued, my possessiveness gradually emerged. I think this might be related to my inferiority complex caused by my height, knowledge, and family background. I started to feel insecure about her. Whenever she had a department dinner, I would ask her to film me so I could see who was there; I would also ask her who her male friends on QQ were; I even suspected that the father she talked to was her "godfather"... Even though I knew deep down that a good girl like her would never have thought of cheating, I couldn't suppress my controlling nature and suspicions, and I kept asking her questions like an obsessive. At first, she would answer me somewhat enthusiastically to reassure me, but later, her answers became more and more perfunctory, until she deliberately ignored my calls or directly retorted.

"It's 2015 already, do you think I'm your maid? You want to control everything?" she replied angrily.

"I just wanted to ask who he is. I didn't mean to doubt you at all."

"If you don't doubt me, then why are you asking? I've told you so many times, this person is my club president. What more do you want me to say? He looks like a pig, and I'd still be with him? I'm reporting on the external relations department's work to him! If you don't believe me, then let's break up!" This was the first time she'd said the word "break up."

"Fine, let's break up then. I'm not afraid of you!" I replied indifferently, leaving with a triumphant air. Behind me, I only heard a sob and the howling of the autumn wind, but I never turned back. "She'll beg me to get back together sooner or later," I comforted myself.

At that moment, I felt like a victor, but back in my dorm, I felt a little lonely—like a child who had lost their favorite toy. She was my first love, and I was hers. I never expected my first relationship to end so quickly. Was it because I didn't do well, or was it because she didn't? I pinched a tiny crystal ball pendant around my neck. Inside was a grain of rice with three characters engraved on it—her name:

Li Zijun.

"Bang!" A strong autumn wind slammed the door shut. "Winter's coming soon," my roommate said with a touch of melancholy.

"Yes, winter's coming soon."

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Green light 1-5

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